Daymares
by aces
Summary: The Doctor and Marc come to Alpha Gamma, a most interesting planet indeed...


Legal finicky stuff: The Doctor is (sadly) not my own, nor is the TARDIS; both belong to the BBC, and I make absolutely no profit from these stories—I just put them here to worry/bore/interest/what-have-you people. Marc is however my creation and I would thank you to leave her alone (only I can do unspeakable things to her…no sick jokes, please). The story's not really very good, but I like to write for character more than anything, so have fun with it! (The song is Madonna's "Candy Perfume Girl" from her _Ray of Light_ CD.)

DAYMARES

chapter one

Fog swirled. Marc stood literally in the middle of nothing, surrounded by blackness. She looked around, confused, for something she recognized; trees, people, a building, anything.

Still nothing.

And then she was in a darkened room. She could make out a bed, chairs, a vanity and bookcase. A normal bedroom.

A light flicked on, seemingly of its own volition. Most of the room was still shrouded in darkness, only a single corner lit.

Another light turned on, the one over the desk. An old-fashioned typewriter was spotlighted in a pool of light. Marc looked around for another person, anyone, who was in the room with her, but there was no one.

_This is insanity_, Marc thought.

And then she was driving down a curved road, a riot of dead leaves being flung wildly in front of her car by the wind, the headlights throwing the rest of the world in dark relief. She swerved with the road, some sad, intense song by Jewel or Sarah McLachlan or Madonna in her Gothic persona playing on the radio.

Marc stopped the car. The window was rolled down all the way despite the freezing, angry wind. She leaned her head out and stared up at the stars, so tiny, so cold, so distant. She took her seatbelt off and clambered out of the car, another song playing now, by the Goo Goo Dolls or Fastball or Better Than Ezra. She craned her head upward, fascinated by the stars. She saw one moving, then another, and realized they were airplanes.

The wind howled. The song became louder, more intense, angrier. Marc was spinning and spinning, drunken circles on the paved road, still with her eyes trained on the black sky above, unable to look down, away from that cold night sky.

The dream ended.

* * *

Marc opened her eyes.

She stared up at the ceiling, panicking for a moment, unsure of where she was. Definitely not in her dorm room; her roommate wasn't there and the furniture was all wrong. A beautiful antique dresser, a huge desk, an opened closet with clothes spilling out (okay, so that was like her dorm room), a vanity matching the dresser, a large, comfortable easy chair. No way was this her dorm room. Too much room and not enough junk.

She sat up, blinking her eyes wide. Then she remembered.

"Whew," Marc breathed out in relief and sat back against the headboard of her bed. Of course. This was her room aboard the TARDIS.

She stretched and crawled out of the bed. The lights came up gradually; the shadows disappeared and the room seemed to grow warmer. She threw on a pair of shorts and a sweatshirt and elected to explore the TARDIS today.

If the Doctor didn't find something else for them to do instead, of course.

* * *

The Doctor stood in the console room, leaning over the console and muttering to himself. The console purred gently, happily, as if glad the Time Lord was in the TARDIS and not off cavorting on some alien planet.

The Doctor patted the console absently and dropped into his favorite chair to put his feet up and relax.

He wondered what Marc was up to.

* * *

Marc was opening doors at random, going down corridors that looked interesting, peeking in at rooms, some of them eyebrow-raising. The place was huge, endless, and frustrating. She would sometimes, just to experiment, backtrack and open doors she'd already looked through, only to find something entirely different behind the door.

She'd only been in the TARDIS a few days, and a lot of that time had been spent on a planet exploring, not in the Ship.

The Doctor was probably in the console room, tinkering. He seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time tinkering in that room. Reminded Marc ominously of Tim the Tool Man Taylor.

The Doctor was almost as incomprehensible and changeable as his TARDIS. He sometimes seemed like a little boy, grinning at her and begging to go outside and play. Then he'd suddenly become one of her history profs, lecturing and making her feel she should be taking notes. And then he'd turn into the cliched dark, handsome, and above all, mysterious, stranger.

It was fun when it wasn't irritating. And it wasn't irritating yet. This was all too new to Marc--her worldview was changing even as she spoke, as she'd told the vampire two days ago.

Vampire. Marc felt as if she'd just walked into the middle of a movie or book. She'd never traveled outside the U.S., never done drugs--not even experimented--or gone to too many parties. Almost the definition of clean-cut, wholesome teenager. She'd wanted to go to Europe since she was in elementary school, had been planning on enrolling for the student exchange program her junior or senior year to fulfill that dream. Just the thought of Mad King Ludwig's castles or the Tower of London made Marc shiver with romantic anticipation.

So the Doctor had promised to take her to England, maybe even in the past. Late Victorian or Elizabethan--Marc had been studying the Tudors when she left college--hell, the Romans or Saxons would suit her. Any different time, place. She'd love to study those cultures.

Maybe she'd get to know the Doctor better, too. He was fascinating--a gorgeous accent in a velvet frock coat and intense blue eyes. Marc grinned. _Cliche all the way_, she told herself and opened another set of random doors.

Console room.

"Woops," she said aloud. The Doctor looked up from the console, his eyes fuzzy as if his mind were elsewhere.

"Hullo, Marc," he said cheerfully. "How are you today?"

Marc shrugged. "Great. Had a weird dream last night." She joined him at the console. "Where and when are we going then?"

"Those shorts might not be warm enough," he commented critically. "The weather tends to be cold in early spring. And you could be very scandalous--a woman in shorts!"

"Well, maybe we could go to a later time period--and in the summer." _I'm not getting rid of the shorts_, she thought stubbornly. She'd just found them yesterday when exploring the wardrobe and wasn't ready to take them off yet.

The Doctor shrugged. "You could always try passing off for a boy." He turned back to the console.

Marc stuck out her tongue at his back and waited. When he didn't add anything, she finally asked, "When'll we get there?"

He didn't look up. "Oh, eventually. You needn't worry. The old girl's quite repaired now."

Marc froze, staring at the Time Lord's velvet back. "'Repaired'?" she repeated softly. "What do you mean, 'repaired'?" She was reminded of Tim the Tool Man Taylor again.

He shrugged nonchalantly. It was an extremely infuriating shrug. "Sometimes the old girl had trouble in the past, but she's all right now." He patted the console affectionately.

"Oh really. Is there an oxygen mask around somewhere? Just to be safe. You know."

The Doctor shook his head, smiling in the most irritatingly patronizing manner Marc could imagine as he faced her again. "Marc Marc Marc Marc. I assure you nothing will go wrong. And even if it did, we would never lose atmosphere. The TARDIS herself would make sure of that if I couldn't."

"Uh-huh." Marc was patently unconvinced. She headed for the interior doors. "Maybe I'll go change. Find a spacesuit. You understand, I'm sure, Doc."

"All right Marc if it'll make you feel better." He shook his head tolerantly.

"It will." Marc opened the doors and was thrown to the ground, bruising her back painfully while the room continued to do some interesting spins and lurches. "What the _hell_--" she yelled, pulling herself up with the help of a footstool.

Marc couldn't be sure, but she thought the Doctor looked worried behind the smoke coming from the console. It was kinda hard to see him, really. "Be quiet, I'm thinking." His pale eyes met Marc's across the console, smoke dissipating and enhancing visibility. "Something's wrong."

"No shit Sherlock," Marc snapped. She ignored the surprise flaring in the Doctor's eyes. "What can you do to repair it?"

"Land. Dematerialize somewhere, get us out of the vortex."

"Fine. Do it," Marc commanded.

"Hold on," he warned. "This could be rough."

"Oh great," Marc muttered as she was thrown into the Doctor's chair, her feet tripping over the footstool. She was sure if she'd been watching herself, she would be pointing right about now and laughing hysterically. Unfortunately, she wasn't amused.

The shaking stopped. "We're here." The Doctor looked up at the time rotor, checking it had stopped.

Marc clasped her hands behind her head and propped her feet on the stool. She blinked amiably up at the Doctor. He thought it was the smuggest look he'd ever seen on a human. "Where's here?"

The Doctor's mouth widened into an excited grin. "I've no idea. Shall we find out?"

Marc stood up and gave the Doctor her arm. "Oh let's."

* * *

"Inspector," said Drago in surprise. "We weren't expecting you today."

Inspector Armin smiled down at the little scientist, the smile without warmth or greeting. "I thought I'd drop by. I was in the area."

"Of course," Drago replied without believing a word of it. "What can we do for you today?"  
"Oh just show me around the complex. The usual."

"This way then, Inspector."

* * *

Marc stopped in surprise. "A street market?"

"It appears so," the Doctor agreed. He gently removed her from the doorway so he could follow her outside. "Perhaps we'll find something for the TARDIS, a replacement component for…whatever's wrong with her." He looked confused for a second, then wandered off, shading his eyes from the bright sunlight.

Marc pulled at the collar of her hot sweatshirt and caught up with the Doctor. "So you don't know what's wrong with it—her? You can't fix her?" She groaned. "I shoulda known."

The Doctor glared sideways at the young woman. "She might not need to be fixed."

Marc stopped. "Might not _need _to be fixed? What, you don't think all that shaking and smoke was just its way of grabbing your attention?"

"It's a possibility. And don't call the TARDIS 'it.' She doesn't like it. She's grabbed my attention in odder ways; it's sometimes difficult to…. interpret the old girl. Hmm, what's that over there?" He slipped away from his companion, ducking between stalls and ignoring the heat of the street.

Marc scowled and mutinously thought about taking her sweatshirt off even though she wasn't wearing a t-shirt underneath. She had a feeling this was going to be an insufferable day.

* * *

Armin and Drago walked back into the spacious lobby of the main building. "Does everything meet with your approval?" asked Drago.

"This time, yes."

Drago flinched and turned away, heading back for his lab. "Good."

"Drago."

The scientist stopped and slowly turned back. "Yes, Inspector?"

"Do be prepared. You never know when I'll drop in again." Armin smiled again at Drago. Again, it wasn't a pretty or welcoming, let alone friendly, sight.

Drago gritted his teeth. "_Yes_, Inspector."

* * *

"Oh." Marc ground to a halt, staring.

"Marc," the Doctor hissed, pulling the young woman behind a stall. He peered over the objects piled on the wood table. "It's very rude to stare. Didn't your mother teach you that?"

"She'd stare at _that_," Marc whispered back, tying to peek over his shoulder. She glanced at the objects on the cart and wondered if they were some sort of fruit or vegetable. At least, Marc hoped it was a food. Nothing in this street market seemed to be what it appeared.

"Him? He's an Ice Warrior. Nothing to worry about." A shadow crossed the Doctor's face as he frowned. "At least, I don't think so. I have no idea what time period we're in; he could be an enemy."

"Oh, that's helpful," Marc muttered, realized the Doctor had already moved on, and hurried after the Time Lord to join him at another booth. That was the third truly alien alien she'd seen in the market. Or maybe fourth. Can't forget the pet she'd almost eaten, thinking it was a sort of dessert.

Marc flushed at the memory and irritably swatted at an insect. At least she hoped it was merely an insect. Then again, for all she knew, the bug was a respected member of the elected city council or something. Damn.

"Can we go yet?" Marc tried not to whine. She didn't think she succeeded. She pulled at her collar again.

The Doctor glanced up at her in surprise. "We haven't finished looking around yet," he protested. "Soon, I promise." He headed for another cart. Marc sighed impatiently and jogged after him, feeling like she had as a kid when her mother had insisted on taking her to the grocery store and taking the damned cart through every aisle, even when they didn't need to go down it.

"Do you have a rough idea of when and or where we are?"

The Doctor frowned, tapping thoughtfully at the bizarre-looking instrument under his hand in the tray. "Some possibilities," he said, grinning at the owner of the stall, a blue man with 3 of almost everything: arms, eyes, ears. "Nothing definite. I say, sir, do you have this model in a smaller size?"  
Marc scowled and turned around, tapping her foot and looking around at the rest of the street. She shaded her eyes with her hand, peering at the far end of the market. It looked like a fight was breaking out. A man was screaming what sounded to Marc like gibberish at one of the stall owners, who was backing away fearfully, even though his stall was between himself and the madman.

"Hey, Doc." She reached out and tapped the Time Lord's shoulder, interrupting some friendly haggling between the two people. "Doc, take a look."  
"What is it, Marc?" He turned around.

"Over there." She pointed.

He frowned, following her finger and also shading his eyes. A cloud crossed over the sun, creating an abrupt darkness and making it easier to see after their eyes adjusted.

The Doctor took a single step forward, any further movement halted by Marc's hand grabbing the back of his coat. "What _are _they--" he started to say, then let out a startled exclamation. Two men ran up to the other man who'd been yelling incoherently and grabbed the man, pulling him away with ruthless efficiency.

"It's the end!" the man being pulled away suddenly screamed out. Silence fell over the street, a light breeze causing the only movement or sound in the whole area. Marc shivered despite the heat, sweat trickling down her brow. "We're all going to die!"

"Nothing to worry about," one of the two men in matching uniforms called out, still struggling with the other man. "Just one of the patients getting loose again."

The street market seemed to collectively sigh and turn back to business in relief. Marc and the Doctor faced each other. "What was _that _all about?" they asked each other simultaneously.

"Just one of the patients," the blue alien told them, his voice oddly echoing from his three mouths. They stared at him dumbly. "One occasionally gets out, but normally nothing happens."

"Patients?" the Doctor questioned.

The alien shrugged his two shoulders and sucked in a breath through one of his mouths. "Yeah. From the hospital."

"Which hospital is that?" the Doctor continued, relentless.

The blue man cocked his single head. "Don't you know?"

"We're new here," Marc finally joined the conversation, getting over her fascination with watching the blue guy's mouths move at the same time. "So no. We don't."

"But this is Alpha Gamma. The only reason people come here is they're patients or doctors or scientists or merchants following the crowd."

"What kind of patients?" the Doctor wouldn't give up.

"Insane ones of course. The whole planet's an insane asylum."

"Oh sweet wicked bloodied-up Christ," said Marc. "Can we go now?"  


chapter two

"Mr Drago sir!" a young technician, first year no doubt, ran up to Drago. No one else had that kind of enthusiasm. Everyone else knew better than to run. "A patient's escaped!"

"Well send out a team to find him." Drago turned away dismissively. Everyone else also knew not to bother Drago about such trivial things as patients escaping.

The tech flushed purple, a livid, ugly color. His race was prone to resentment and embarrassment, Drago recalled. Something about their history, no doubt. Perhaps he would look it up sometime, try to find some research. "Already been done, sir," the tech said stiffly.

"Very good. Oh," Drago stopped the tech just as he turned away. "Who was supposed to inform me that Inspector Armin was on the planet?"

The tech seemed to be that awful purple color permanently. "I was, sir. I didn't realize—"

"Never mind," Drago sighed, cutting the young idiot off. "I suppose I shall have to find someone else to do the job. Someone who can actually pay attention."

The tech gritted his teeth. He was turning a deep red now. "Is that all? Sir?" he asked finally.

"What? Oh, yes, that's all. Carry on."

"Yes sir. I only thought you should be informed." The tech pivoted on one foot, stepping away.

"Yes, thank you," Drago said. The tech quickly turned back. "I've been informed about the escape. Now go back to work. And do try to pay more attention to your work than you do inspectors' whereabouts."

A pause. Drago walked away. The tech glared at the scientist's back. "Yes, _sir_."

He walked away.

* * *

"_Doc_," Marc groaned. "I asked to leave. Not find the damned _hospital_! That's the exact _opposite_ of what I wanted!"

"Yes, but it's exactly what I want and I'm the one with the key to the TARDIS, not to mention the ability to fly her, so you're coming with me."

Marc stopped and stared at his back for a moment before falling into step with the Doctor while he strode purposefully down the street. "I didn't realize you were so—manipulative."

The Doctor paused, then continued striding purposefully as if nothing had happened. "You haven't seen me play chess."

"You play chess?"

"I used to. In a former lifetime or two."

Marc shivered and drew away from the Time Lord. "What, you go through reincarnation?"

"I suppose you could call it that, in a way. We call it regeneration."

"Oh that's helpful. Do I even want to know about this?"

"I don't know. Do you?" He looked down at her expectantly. He wasn't being sarcastic; he really didn't know, Marc realized.

"No," she decided, "I don't. Do you even know where we're going?"

"Yes, the hospital where they took that man."

"Yeah, but do you know where that is?"

He grinned at her. "Not a clue."

Marc sighed. "Why am I not surprised."

* * *

"What's going on?" she asked five minutes later. She had to push the Doctor onto the sidewalk and join him so neither she nor he would get run over by people rushing to somewhere.

"I don't know. But I think it might have something to do--"  
"With a certain hospital," Marc finished for him. "Okay, Doc, let's go."

"Are you sure?" he was staring at her again, Marc noticed with irritation, that deep stare that always made the hair on the back of her neck stand up and her heart stop beating and jump into her throat. "If you really don't like the idea of getting involved, you can go back to the TARDIS."

"Oh so _now _I get the choice," Marc muttered, then took the Doctor's arm. "Look, I wanted to travel, see some stuff, not sit around hiding in the TARDIS. Let's go already," she finished with more bravery than she felt. She just kept reminding herself of all the regret she would feel if she didn't stay here and help the Doctor out.

The Doctor smiled and took her hand with his unheld arm. "Take my hand. I don't want to lose you in the crowd."

"Thanks." They joined the rest of the people.

"What's going on?" the Doctor asked what he had identified to Marc as a Tereleptil.

"Someone's been killed," the Tereleptil replied, wheezing in the Doctor's face.

The Time Lord winced, though if from the bad news or bad breath, Marc couldn't tell. "Any idea who is was?"

"An important scientist, working on some hush-hush project."

The Doctor's eyebrows shot up. "Oh really?"

"Everyone!" A strident voice at the front of the crowd called out, causing everyone to still. "Please! The matter is under control; there is nothing to see! You may carry on with your business."

"Who's he?" Marc asked a more human-looking person. She didn't trust herself yet to talk to the _really_ weird looking ones. She began wondering if she were prejudiced…

"One of the inspectors, no doubt," the person replied. He shrugged and headed back for his shop. Others began following. Marc and the Doctor stayed where they were, staring up at the impressive, gleaming white building. It sprawled out horizontally instead of vertically, explaining why neither human nor Time Lord had noticed it before. The shops and other buildings of the village had hid it.

"That's the hospital, huh?" Marc whispered.

"I would assume so, yes," the Doctor replied in a normal voice. He loped up to the inspector who'd spoken and stuck out a hand, smiling at the other man charmingly. "How do you do? I'm the Doctor, and this is my friend Marc." He looked momentarily confused when he found Marc not at his side. "Ah. She's still standing back there. Can we be of service?"

Marc stared at the Doctor, her mouth hanging very slightly open without her realizing. He really was the weirdest guy she had ever met. Slowly Marc joined the Doctor and his newfound friend.

Although the man didn't look very friendly. Marc doubted he ever could; his weathered, leathery skin was pockmarked, and his eyes were so pale as to be colorless. When he smiled, it was just a movement of lips with no real emotion behind it at all.

He wasn't smiling now. "Did you kill Mr Drago?"

The Doctor finally let his hand drop. "No."

"Do you know who did?"

"No."

The inspector turned away. "Then no. You can't help me."  
The Doctor was suddenly in front of the inspector, charming smile still in place but his blue eyes now hard. "You never can tell. My companion and I have had a lot of experience at this sort of thing." He paused, considering. "Well, I have anyway. Though I'm sure Marc can be loads of help too."

"Experience at what sort of thing?" the inspector asked.

The Doctor waved an airy hand. "Intrigue, insanity, science, detection, experiments gone horribly wrong, murder." His grin was back in place with reinforcements. "Anything and everything really."  
"He means it too," Marc added seriously and with complete certainty. As long as she had known him--admittedly, not long--he'd shown an ability in--everything.

The inspector scowled at them. Marc frowned back. "You know," she said slowly, " your eyebrows are really quite good." She imitated his scowl, his bushy eyebrows lowering over his pale eyes. "Do you get a lot of confessions with that look or do you always have to resort to physical brutality?"  
The Doctor gaped at Marc, then burst out laughing. Marc blushed and stepped behind and to the side of the Time Lord. She didn't quite know why, but the Doctor was proud of her. It felt good.

The Time Lord faced the inspector squarely. "Inspector--what is your name, Inspector?"

"Inspector Armin."

The Doctor raised an elegant eyebrow. "Oh, so Inspector is your first name? Fascinating."  
The other man's face seemed set in stone. "If you will excuse me, I have other matters to attend to." He turned away toward the building, but paused and looked back. "If you ever come back here again, _Doctor, _I will have you placed in a cell. Please remember that."

The Doctor watched Armin leave. "Doc?" Marc asked in concern. "Now what do we do?"

"Find some way in of course."

"But he just said--"

"Oh pay no attention to him," the Doctor had a look of disdain on his face. "Sometimes I really dislike authority figures. This way," he headed back through the street market, which seemed to be readying itself to pack up and call it a night. Twilight was setting over the town. "Well, that was very amusing and quite fun but of absolutely no help at all. In fact, it was probably a hindrance. Oh well." He shrugged and glanced at Marc. "Now should we stay in the TARDIS or find somewhere local to spend the night?"

"You're not gonna try getting in there now are you? Or are you waiting to break in tonight?" She wouldn't put it past him.

"Of course not." He looked offended for an instant, then relented. "Well, not yet. No, it's almost dark and I think it's obvious we'll be here a little while at least. We shall leave the inspector to his job for now."

"For now," Marc repeated dryly. "If it's all the same to you, I'd like to stay in the TARDIS. I'm sure you understand."

"No, I don't," the Doctor shook his golden-brown head in confusion.

Marc rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Insane asylum, Doc!"

The Doctor's eyes opened wide. "So? Some of my best friends reside in insane asylums."

"Gee, I'm not surprised." _Why don't you join them_? She thought to herself.

"Because I don't need to yet," he replied out loud. Marc blinked. "Come on, this way to the TARDIS."

"Uh, Doc?" Marc stopped him. "It's this way." She pointed in the opposite direction.

The Doctor frowned. "Are you sure?"

She nodded, biting her lip to stop from laughing.

"Of course you are." He headed in the direction she indicated. "I was just testing your sense of direction."

"Sure, Doc. Right. Whatever."

* * *

Marc went to bed soon after entering the TARDIS again. She had a feeling she'd need the extra sleep; besides, it'd been a long day. She took a quick shower and put on a long white nightshirt from the nineteenth century and climbed into bed.

She soon fell asleep.

Hours later she twisted, frowning and twitching. Normally Marc didn't dream--or if she did, she forgot the dream before even awaking. She hadn't had a nightmare since she was thirteen, six years ago.

But now, images were flashing through her mind. A clown was pointing at her and laughing, making fun of her and encouraging the rest of the crowd to join him in jeering her. A black cat hissed and scratched at her, grabbed hold of her arm and wouldn't let go. She stood on a stage, trying to recite a poem or sing a song, but the audience was too busy throwing overripe fruit and vegetables at her and booing her. A dog latched onto her leg, joining the cat.

Marc sat up with a gasp, her heart pounding and sweat pouring down her forehead. The darkness was blinding, profound, and utterly terrifying. Marc fell back onto her pillows, her eyes squeezed shut against the blackness, praying to whatever god or goddess was listening that the dark would just go away.

She didn't go back to sleep that night.

* * *

"Good morning, Mar--Marc? Are you all right?" Her eyes were shadowed and even more alarming, her skin was paler than usual. She was _too_ pale to begin with.

"I had a nightmare," she replied shortly.

"Oh." The Doctor didn't know what to say. "What was it about?"

"Persecution mania."

"Eh?"  
"An extreme form of paranoia."  
"Yes, Marc, I know what it means, but what do _you_ mean?"

"Everyone was out to get me. Even animals." The Doctor blinked. "Everyone was laughing at me. I haven't had a bad dream in years, Doc." She took a deep breath. "I normally don't remember my dreams either--"

"Well, most people don't."

"--But this was horribly vivid." She shivered and sat down abruptly. "I only got a couple hours sleep. Three or four maybe. I couldn't get back to sleep after that."

"I'm sorry." The Doctor still had no idea what to tell her.

Marc shook her head. "Not your fault. What're we gonna do now?"

The Doctor looked at her in concern. Marc fought down a wave of irritation; she wasn't some damned invalid or nutcase! She'd had a bloody nightmare, not a seizure, fer chrissake! "Why don't you go back to sleep?" he suggested. "You look like you need it."

"I'm a college student, Doctor. I'm used to all-nighters."  
"True. Actually, I don't know what I'm going to do next. I haven't been able to come up with a plan."

Marc frowned at his wording and tone of voice. "Is that bad?"

"Unusual," he admitted. "I'm normally quite good at coming up with ideas, but right now my mind's a complete blank."

"Frustrating," Marc remarked.

"It is," the Doctor agreed. "Why don't you try getting some more sleep? It's pointless sitting here, waiting for me to come up with something for us to do."

Marc stood up. "Very well. Call me when you can think again."  
"See you later."

* * *

_Young velvet porcelain boy / Devour me when you're with me / Blue wish window seas / Speak delicious fires / I'm your candy perfume girl_

Marc was singing to the Doctor, dancing around him, grinning at him. She stopped in front of him and sang directly to him, holding his pale eyes with her dark ones.

_Magic poison / You're a candy perfume boy/ candy perfume boy / You're a candy perfume boy_

And suddenly Marc was looking down at her own tombstone. An Ice Warrior had his claws around her, strangling her, pushing red drops of blood out of cracks in her skin. A man from a nightmare she'd had six years ago stood over her, knife gleaming in the golden sunlight. Her mother had left her in an airport, abandoned her there. She was holding her older brother in his arms, his blood covering her (**blood, blood on my hands**), she was wailing, screaming, sobbing. She was spinning and spinning, those damned stars mocking her, the Doctor mocking her, telling her she could never survive travelling with him, she was too weak, so damned bloody _weak_...

Marc woke up screaming.

chapter three

The Doctor paced down one of the corridors of his TARDIS, still attempting to think. His mind was a frustrating blank; this had never happened to him before. Normally he was thinking about _too _much at once.

He was standing outside Marc's room still trying to think when he heard her scream.

* * *

Marc woke up screaming, throwing the covers away from her body with as much violence as she could muster, tears streaming down her face. She screamed and screamed, sobbing and choking and terrified she was going insane, really insane, she belonged in an institution. She wanted to get away from this place, away from these thoughts, wanted to forget everything that was hurting her.

"Marc? Marc!" Someone was grabbing her arms, a gentle force, holding her down in the darkness, a cold grip with words in a soothing accent, murmuring as if from a distance. "It's okay, it's okay, you're all right, Marcella, it's okay, it was just a bad dream, just a dream..."

Marc hugged the warm body, the smooth-textured clothes, and still kept crying. The Doctor hugged her back, whispering still in her ear, reassuringly real, telling her it was a nightmare and she was safe in the TARDIS, she was safe with him, nothing could hurt her here, nothing could harm her.

Her heart and breathing slowed down, her tears dried, her head ached abominably, and she needed a tissue badly. The Doctor poked through his pockets and presented the girl with a pristine handkerchief, which she tearfully laughed at and gratefully used.

"What was it this time?" he gently asked her when she awkwardly handed him back the handkerchief and he absently stuffed it back in his pocket. He sat back on the edge of the bed, close and warm and reassuring in the darkness.

She drew a shuddery breath. "Too much. A bunch of bad images, sickening, terrifying." She remembered one particular image and blushed, the embarrassment almost too much for her.

"Anything specific?" He took her hand. "Don't talk about it if you don't want to, but--"

"My grave. My brother's dead body."

"You have a brother?"  
Marc nodded, still sniffling. "He's a pediatrician in my home town. But this dream was when he was much younger, a little kid--but I was my age..."  
He squeezed her hand. "It's okay."  
Marc drew away from him, embarrassed and humiliated for different reasons now. "God, I'm an ass, screaming the place down and getting you all soaked--"

"It's all _right_, Marc," the Doctor firmly cut her off. "It's not your fault. It sounds like it was pretty frightening."

"Everyone was killing me." Her face had a disgusted, sick look on her face. She pulled her knees up to her chest, unconsciously pulling herself together, inward, protecting herself from harm.

The Doctor's face tightened. "When was the last time you had a nightmare?"

The sharpness of his question pulled Marc out of her reverie, at least temporarily. "Thirteen. I think. It was a long time ago, anyway. And a long time since I'd had that one, like five or six more years, when I was a really little kid."

"So why have you had two extremely disturbing nightmares in the space of hours years later? It must be something to do with this place. Come on." He stood up, full of decisive energy. "Get dressed."  
Marc looked up at him, her face dirty and bruised-looking. Her eyes were hard. Maybe because she didn't have her contacts in, but the Doctor doubted it. "Where are we going?

"Back to the hospital," was the Doctor's grim reply.

"Oh goody," Marc said sarcastically, her heart clenching as she remembered what she'd thought after waking up, that sickening and too-likely-feeling idea that she was insane. The flare of anger in her eyes startled the Doctor.

Marc uncurled herself and stood up. "I'll get dressed."  
"It'll be all right, Marc," the Doctor told her, confidence personified as he headed for the door. "I promise." He stepped outside her room.

"Right."

She shut the door behind him.

* * * 

"Ready?" the Doctor looked up at Marc as she walked into the console room. She wore shorts and a t-shirt. He blinked. "Planning ahead, eh?"

"Yeah," said Marc. "Let's go."  
She still seemed angry. The Doctor couldn't blame her; he felt angry too. "Let's go," he repeated and opened the main doors.

The two walked back into the street. The market was gone; everyone was back in their shops, but a handful of people walked along the street.

"Jesus, it's freezing!" Marc chattered, hugging herself. "Lemme back in the TARDIS; I gotta change."

"We don't have time, Marc," the Doctor protested impatiently.

Marc scowled at him. She was shivering violently. "You want me to freeze? Literally?"

"Here." He shrugged out of his velvet frock coat and handed it to her. "Wear this. Now let's _go_ please." He began a brisk march without waiting for Marc.

Marc ran to catch him up, pulling the coat on as she scrambled after him. It was warm and reminded her for some reason of the black leather jacket Elliot had given her. She'd left it draped over a chair in her room in the TARDIS. She wished she had it now, even though this coat was comfortable and warm and smelled of the Doctor. "Aren't you going to freeze?" she asked guiltily. He wore only his paisley vest and shirtsleeves.

"I'll live," he answered dismissively. "This way."  
Marc noticed white smoke coming from one of the buildings at the further end of the hospital complex, but before she could ask the Doctor if he knew what is was, he was walking into the main building.

She followed him into a spacious lobby, all white and sterile. The Doctor strolled up to a receptionist and said, "I need to see Inspector Armin. Immediately."

"I'm sorry, sir, but--"

"No, _now_, madam. This is a matter of some urgency." The Doctor stared the woman down.

"Please wait," she relented. The Doctor went back to Marc. She still looked cold.

"Well?" she asked.

"She's checking."

"Hmph."  
"Who should I say wants to see the inspector?" the lady--she _looked _human--called over to the Doctor.

"The Doctor and Marcella Davis."

The lady repeated the names into the box on her desk--Marc supposed it was an intercom--and glanced up at the Doctor. "He'll see you sir." She stood up. "This way."

"Receptionists," the Doctor whispered to Marc. "They never change, no matter what galaxy or time period you're in." He followed the woman, Marc trailing behind him.

The lady opened a door after a long walk down a darkly lit corridor, then closed it after Marc.

"Ah, Doctor, isn't that what you go by?" Inspector Armin looked up as they came in. A couple other people left the room through a door on the opposite side of the room. Marc tried to peer through to see what was on the other side, but it was too dark and they closed it before she could get a good look. "Good news. The murder's solved."

"Oh really?" the Doctor lounged casually against the door.

"Yes, it was a technician. He gave himself away by his blush."

Marc turned away from the other door. "Uh?"

"He's an Ichthyian," the inspector explained. "When questioned, he turned a very peculiar shade of green, indicating guilt. He confessed very quickly after that."

"How lucky for you." The Doctor sat down in the chair at the head of the table and began spinning it around slowly.

"His race is notoriously violent. He didn't like the way Drago treated him, had been seething for weeks."

Marc frowned. "Stupid reason to kill someone."

Armin turned to her, pale eyes expressionless. "Not if you're an Ichthyian."

"There's more going on here than meets the eye," the Doctor announced abruptly, stopping the movement of his chair by placing his hands on the table. "I can't think, Marc's having nightmares, and you've just had a murder. Now what does that tell you?" he stared at Armin.

"Very little," Armin stared back. He looked back at his computer and the files on the table in front of him, dismissing the Doctor. "I don't see what the three have to do with each other, and I don't really care if you're having a mental block and she's having bad dreams."

"Your compassion overwhelms me," Marc told him sarcastically.

"I never have trouble thinking," the Doctor said, his voice quiet and tense. "And Marc had two nightmares in the span of hours--dreadful nightmares--when she hasn't had any in years. When was the last time there was a murder here?"

Armin glanced up, disconcerted at the change in subject. "There hasn't ever been one here before. This complex was only built four years ago."

"What about on the whole planet?" Marc asked, following the Doctor's train of thought. She sat down, not noticing the Doctor's glance at her.

"This planet was established to house the criminally insane of most species over 25 years ago," Armin told them. "There's only been a handful of murders in that time, none in well over a decade."

"Including patients?" the Doctor asked sardonically.

Armin glanced at him askance. "They don't count."

"Of course not." The anger in the Doctor's face drained as he shook his head. "That's not the point—this time. The point is, you haven't had a murder here in a very long time. Now all of a sudden you do. A woman who hasn't had a nightmare in over six years suddenly has two very bad ones. And a Time Lord who's always been able to think on his feet is now having a mental block? Absurd! There _is_ a connection, Inspector. What do you inspect anyway?"

Armin was frowning, trying to keep up with the other man. "What do you mean?"

"Well, it's obviously not murders, or you'd be out of a job. Unless you came to this planet to detect? What is your job description?"

"I inspect hospitals in this sector of space. Safety standards, hygiene, that sort of thing. The only reason I was in charge of this case was because I happened to be here, inspecting this complex."

"What do they do here?"

Armin scowled. "Take care of patients of course."

The Doctor waved an impatient hand. "No no no no no, I mean, beyond that. Didn't you say Drago was a scientist, not a doctor? And his killer was a technician? What sort of labs do they have here? What sort of test are they running?"  
"They do have a pharmaceutical department," Armin answered slowly. "It comes up with new drugs—tranquilizers, anti-depressants, mood inhibitors and the like. That's what Drago was in charge of. That's why I came to inspect yesterday, in fact."

"What are they working on now? Do you know?"  
Armin shook his head. "That's classified; I can't tell you. You shouldn't even be in here. I said the last time I saw you I'd throw you out if you ever came here again."

The Doctor smiled slightly. "Then why are we in here and not being thrown out?"

Armin shrugged. "A whim."

Marc snorted, joining the conversation for the first time in a long while. "A whim?" she repeated in disbelief.

"You don't seem the type to have whims, Inspector Armin," the Doctor agreed.

Armin scowled. "I'm not. I…" he trailed off, frowning and uncomfortable.

"So." The Doctor jumped up, radiating enthusiastic energy. "What are we going to do?"

"Do?" Armin asked blankly.

"Well, we've got to do something to stop all this."

"Stop all what, Doctor?" Armin was holding his temper with difficulty. "There's nothing going on. The crime's been solved, the criminal apprehended; please don't come to me with fairy stories. You may leave now."

The Time Lord stared down at the seated inspector. "Armin, we need your help. We—"

"I said leave."

The two stared at each other, neither relenting. Finally Marc gently took the Doctor's arm and pulled him away, making him break eye contact with Armin. "C'mon, Doc," she said quietly. "Let's go."

Marc led the Doctor out of they hospital. He was still glowering. "Now what do we do?" she asked, jamming her hands into the Doctor's coat pockets and feeling the objects in there shuffle around to make room for her frozen fingers. It was still too bloody cold out.

"We wait," the Doctor replied in the grimmest voice Marc had ever heard. She looked up at him in surprise. "Until something else happens."

"Like?" 

"Like another murder. Or a fight. Or something so violent and obvious Inspector Armin will have to come back and ask us for help."

Marc bit her lip in acute frustration. "Can't we do _some_thing? Why do we have to wait for someone else to die? Dammit!"

The Doctor put a calming hand on her shoulder. "I know. Why don't we talk to the shop owners around here? They might know something, be able to help us out."

"Fine. But first we have to go back to the TARDIS."

"Why?" the Doctor asked in surprise.

"So I can change. I'm bloody _freezing_!"

* * *

Hours later Marc collapsed into one of the easy chairs in the console room, scowling. She felt like she'd been constantly tense and angry for years.

"We didn't get _anywhere_," she growled, her hands jammed in her black leather jacket pockets. She'd given the Doctor his frock coat back after changing into jeans and sweater and Elliot's present.

"Oh, I don't know about that. I found a marvelous new flavor of tea, and that nice young man seemed to like you."  
Marc rolled her eyes. "He had four eyes, Doctor! Literally!" But she smiled and relaxed slightly.

The Doctor beamed back, then sobered. "Although you're right, we didn't learn anything useful. Nothing unusual has been happening here, beyond a few more escapes than usual. If only we knew if they'd started any experiments there in the past month or so; maybe that would explain what's going on."

"Are you thinking what I think you're thinking?"  
"I don't know. What do you think you think I'm thinking?"  
Marc shook her head dizzily and quickly gave up on trying to figure _that_ one out. "Are you planning on breaking in?"

"Hmm." The Doctor paused in thought. "That does seem a bit excessive, doesn't it?"

"At least we wouldn't have to wait for something else to happen!" Marc argued, standing up and pacing restlessly. "We can't just sit her, Doc! I'm going crazy waiting."

"You're right. We can't. All right, we'll break in. Tonight."

"Good." Marc flopped into her chair again.

"Is it?" the Doctor raised an eyebrow at his companion.

"I wasn't planning on sleeping tonight anyway."  


* * *

Marc had changed again, this time to all black, including the leather jacket. "Looking like a Goth again," she told the Doctor when she joined him in the console room.

"Rather," he agreed, flipping some switches and frowning at a readout. He muttered something under his breath [no, not about the polarity of the neutron flow, put that idea out of your head RIGHT NOW] and moved around to another display.

"Are you sure we can break into the hospital, look through all their records, and figure out what's wrong, all in one night?"  
He looked offended. "Of course! Well, fairly sure," he immediately amended. "Well..."

"Thank you for your honesty," Marc cut him off dryly. "Are you ready? I want to get my introduction to crime over with as soon as possible."  
"Just about. What I'm trying to figure out is why _you_ were affected."

"You were too," Marc pointed out, feeling self-conscious. She was remembering her screaming fit again.

"Not necessarily," the Doctor corrected her. "That could just have been an extremely unusual mental lapse. But you were having nightmares in the TARDIS too."

"How does being in the TARDIS change anything?"

"The TARDIS is a different environment, separated from the outside world. You didn't eat or drink anything at the market, did you?"

"No." _I was afraid to_, she didn't say.

"So perhaps it was in the atmosphere." He stared down at a small computer screen. "Perhaps it was some virus or contagion in the air..." 

"Does the TARDIS use the outside air from the planet?" Marc asked, an idea forming in her mind.

The Doctor stared at her in puzzlement, but his blue eyes were focused elsewhere as his thoughts followed hers. "Of course! Yes, it does. You're right!" He gave her a quick hug and rushed around the console. "Jolly good, Marc," he said as he frantically played with the console. "There is probably something in the air, which the TARDIS is bringing in with the air she takes from outside...I must remember to put some kind of filter on the old girl, next chance I..." he trailed off.

She grinned. "See? I _can_ think like a sci-fi character."

"Sorry?" the Doctor blinked up at her, momentarily pausing from his work.

"Never mind."  
He nodded and stepped back from the console, satisfied. "There. Finished. The TARDIS is now using her internal air supply. Although that won't help us now, since we'll be leaving..."

"Do you have everything you need?" Marc asked, remembering the task in front of them abruptly.

"Yes," he focused on her again. "Yes, I do. Let's go."

The Doctor closed and locked the ship's doors once they were outside, then headed down the street toward the hospital. Marc struggled to keep up with his brisk pace. "What if there's guards?" Marc whispered. A light drizzle fell on the empty shops and road, and mist covered everything. Marc felt like she should be in Victorian London, running away from Jack the Ripper. No one else was out.

"Then we'll deal with them," was the Doctor's easy, exasperated reply.

Fear clenched at Marc's heart. "How will we deal with them, Doctor?" she hissed, stopping in the middle of the road.

The Doctor glared at her. "Not the way you are obviously thinking. I dislike violence, Marc, you should know that."

"I've known you five days at most, Doc. Philosophical discussions about when violence is acceptable haven't come up yet."  
"It seems we'll have to talk then sometime," the Doctor remarked. "Here we are. Quiet now."

"No really?" Marc grunted before closing her mouth and following the Doctor's lead.

The Time Lord took a small silver rod out of his voluminous coat pocket and held it up to the glass doors. Marc frowned at the metallic instrument, which looked for all the world like a glorified tire pressure gauge to Marc.

"Sonic screwdriver," the Doctor whispered so quietly in explanation Marc had to strain to hear him, and she was practically breathing down his neck. He slipped the door silently open and slid inside. Marc followed just as quietly.

"So far so good," she murmured. He put a warning finger to his lips, then tiptoed down the corridor. Marc stuck her tongue out after him and mouthed _No duh!_ at his back. She wanted to ask if he had any idea where he was going, but she didn't want to disturb the silence or warrant another warning glower from the Time Lord. So she mentally shrugged and followed, deciding she'd have to trust the Doctor.

He opened the first door he found, then scowled and closed it. The next one he tried brought a satisfied smirk to his face and he allowed Marc to enter first, opening the door for her with an elaborate flourish. She gave him a small curtsy and tiptoed in, the thought crossing her mind that if any guard with a gun was inside, she'd be shot first.

No one was inside. Marc's breathing managed to slow down a tiny fraction, but her chest still felt like her bra was two sizes too small for her. Her asthma hadn't bothered her in years. Figured it'd start up again now.

The room was full of desks and computer terminals, some of them oddly shaped. Marc supposed they were for the _really_ weird aliens. Shaking her head at her own prejudice, she watched the Doctor choose a more normal-looking desk to sit at and power up the computer.

"Do you have any idea how to work this?" she asked in the quietest voice she could muster. She sounded breathless and just barely in control of her panic. She had no idea why this had seemed like a good idea; criminal acts just weren't her forte.

"If not, I'll soon have it figured out," the Doctor answered confidently. He seemed completely calm, Marc noted enviously. He probably did this kind of thing at least once a week. She realized that if she stuck around with the Doctor, she'd end up doing this kind of thing at least once a week too. _I'll die of a stress-related heart attack before I'm twenty_, she told herself despairingly.

Marc pulled up a chair to sit down and watch the Doctor work, feeling particularly useless. She hated computers on Earth; she was constantly afraid she'd break the damned things. Besides, every computer she used seemed to have a vicious vendetta against her, always locking up or crashing on her. Marc much preferred paper and pencil. Even if her handwriting was an illegible scrawl, at least a pencil couldn't conceivably blow up on her.

Marc forced her attention back to the Doctor and the computer screen in front of him. Her concentration was notoriously erratic, she knew, but this was ridiculous. Ranting mentally about computers while breaking into an insane asylum just wasn't something Marc had ever pictured herself doing, even in her more eccentric flights of fancy. _Here we go again_, she thought to herself and stared furiously at the flickering screen. "What language is that?"

"A computer code," the Doctor answered, his attention focused on what he was reading. "Doesn't translate easily into English. I'm trying to get it to accept me as valid."

Marc's face was a study in incomprehension. She shrugged. "Okaaaay. I have no idea what you might mean by that, but sure. Whatever you say."

"Shh," he said sharply. "I'm trying to concentrate."  
Marc looked surprised. "You have that problem too?"  
He didn't reply.

She was relaxed enough to be mind-numbingly bored, Marc noticed wryly. She stood up and wandered over to each of the three doors leading into the room, peeking out to make sure no one was coming.

She waited fifteen minutes while the Doctor stared at the computer. She wasn't sure he blinked or moved or breathed even, only occasionally tapping the keyboard or screen as occasion warranted it.

"Well?" Marc hissed finally. "Found anything yet?"  
The Doctor scowled at the screen. "Of course not. I've barely begun, Marc!"  
"Oh gawd," she groaned. "We're screwed. This is gonna take forever!"

"Quite. And it will take even longer is you talking at me!"

"Sor-ry!"

"Quiet!"

Marc pulled a face and flopped into a seat, her chin against her chest and her hands stuffed in her pockets, scowling at the door they'd come through. For a moment she spitefully half-hoped a guard would come through and catch the Doctor hacking into the hospital computer system. Then she realized what she was wishing for and superstitiously pushed the thought out of her mind, hoping no god or goddess who took a dislike to her would hear the thought and act on it. She stood up and paced the room, still giving the odd cursory look out the windows to check for people. By now she doubted anyone else was in the hospital, not even janitorial staff. Maybe it was too early or late for them. Hell, for all she knew, little robots did the cleanup jobs.

"This is interesting," the Doctor said over a half-hour later.

"What?" Marc sat up from her doze and joined him at his computer.

"They just started a new project over a month ago. Well, a new phase of a project they've been working on for years now."

"What project was this?"  
"Mood stabilizers for people with chronic, extreme mood swings, people with extreme, violent tempers or severe panic attacks--" he ignored Marc's facial expression at the last. "That sort of thing."  
"Could that cause my nightmares and that other guy's murderous rage?"

"I don't see how. But I'm not through yet; let me keep looking...oh. Oh dear."

"What?" Marc didn't like the concerned look on his face or the red flashing light on the screen.

"I think I just tripped an alarm."

"I thought you were good at this sort of thing!" Marc hissed, her earlier panic coming back and bringing reinforcements.

"Nobody's perfect. Come on, I think this is when we beat a hasty retreat."

"I agree." Marc scrambled for the door, then turned back when the Doctor wasn't behind her. "Doc! Hurry _up!"_

He was calmly powering down the computer. "I don't want to leave any clues behind," he explained. "Not anymore than I have to anyway."

"I don't give a rat's ass about clues! Let's _move!_"

"Marc." The Doctor caught her flailing hand. "We need to stay calm. Panic and you become immobile and no good to me or you. Stay clear-headed. We'll get out of this, I promise."

She ripped her hand out of his grip with more violence that she'd intended. "I _am_ calm," she hissed and began laughing hysterically at the total hypocrisy of her statement.

"Take a deep breath," the Doctor commanded.

Marc took in a large, shuddering lungful of air and breathed out. She smiled shakily at the Doctor. "I'm really not good at this sort of thing, if you couldn't tell."

The Doctor smiled cheerfully back and opened the door, ushering her out and quickly down the hall. "Stick with me and you will be."

"That's what I'm afraid of." She hopped from one foot to the other as she waited for the Doctor to unlock the front door in the lobby. "Nobody seems to be coming after us," she remarked hopefully in a whisper.

"That's what worries me," the Doctor answered and the door clicked open. "Quickly."

"Just what I wanted to hear," Marc muttered and they slipped out of the building.

They were hastening away from the building when blinding floodlights came up. Marc gasped and shielded her eyes and found she was hyperventilating. That just made her panic worse.

The Doctor put his hand on the small of her back. "Deep breath," he said in a no nonsense tone of voice. Marc sucked in a breath of cold air and coughed. The Doctor's hand dropped.

The floodlights blinked off, leaving Marc blinded in the sudden darkness. The cold wind was stinging her cheeks and blowing her short, silky straight black hair in her face. The Doctor seemed curiously unaffected by the weather.

"Well Doctor," came Inspector Armin's voice from in front of them. "I thought I told you to leave. You obviously don't listen."

"I couldn't stay away," the Doctor smiled, his eyes hard, his hands in his pockets.

"That is unfortunate." Armin shook his head. One of his guards behind him had turned on an equivalent to a flashlight, throwing the inspector into sharp relief.

"Why?" Marc almost squeaked. She scowled, cleared her throat, and repeated her question in her normal voice. She was unexpectedly angry, at herself for being such a wimp, at the Doctor for getting her into this mess, at Armin for being a bully.

"Because now I'll have to lock you up."

Marc's scowl deepened. "Bugger."

chapter four

The guards pushed the Doctor and Marc into the cell and slammed the door. Marc glowered at Armin. "Bastard," she said distinctly.

"Very nice meeting you too," Armin replied and walked out of the room surrounding the cell, closing the door behind him and locking it.

Marc flopped onto one of the two beds as violently as she could, her face ugly with anger. The Doctor prowled around the cell, taking in everything.

"God, this is boring," Marc said presently. "I didn't even bring my backpack."

The Doctor sat down on the other bed. His coat had been taken away from him, and he looked curiously vulnerable without it. They were the only people in any of the cells in the room; the silence was becoming oppressive. If Marc had been alone she might have cried. As it was, she wasn't about to embarrass herself further in front of the Doctor.

"We can't do anything, can we?" The Doctor focused on Marc's face. She still looked and sounded quite fantastically angry. "We're screwed. Royally."

"Not necessarily."

"How are you at picking locks without that screwdriver of yours? Sorry, my hair's not long enough for hair pins," Marc added sarcastically.

The Doctor wondered how long the human could keep up that kind of emotional energy without passing out. "Don't worry, Marc," the Doctor said in a heavy voice, "we'll think of something."  
Marc nodded, realizing the Doctor wanted her to calm down. She leant back against the bars of the cell wall and closed her eyes.

"I shouldn't go to sleep," she remarked with eyes still shut. "I'll probably have nightmares again."  
The Doctor didn't answer. She fell asleep.

The Doctor also closed his eyes. He wasn't tired exactly, but he couldn't concentrate, couldn't think up some plan how to escape or what to do. And if he closed his eyes he wouldn't feel so claustrophobic. _I really must stop getting locked up_, he thought wryly as he laid down properly on the bed, still with eyes closed. _I'm no good at this sort of thing anymore._

He dozed off.

Sara Kingdom falling in the dust, decaying into nothing. Adric blowing up on the spaceship heading to prehistoric Earth. Kamelion, the Master's TCE in the Doctor's own hands, Kamelion's silver body shrinking and shrinking into an inanimate toy. Roz's funeral, Chris speaking, his hearts attack. All over again, each overlapping the other, memory upon bad memory, niggling regret after niggling regret, guilt upon guilt. Tegan leaving, too much violence. Peri left behind, forgotten in the chaos and relief. Ace changed, a soldier, too different to be the same 16-year-old he'd brought aboard the TARDIS. He had killed Kamelion with his own hands. Tegan couldn't take it anymore…

He sat up and blinked his eyes open. Frowning, he swung around so he could lean his back up against the bars and draw his legs up to his chest and try not to consider what he'd just dreamed.

He glanced at Marc. She was sleeping peacefully--for now. Perhaps he should wake her up, before she started dreaming too. Again. Then again, she might--probably--needed the sleep.

She twitched.

"Oh dear," the Doctor sighed. "Marc? Marc!" He leant across and jiggled her elbow with his foot. "Marc, wake up."

"What?" She bolted upright, looking around. "What is it? What's going on?"

"Nothing." The Doctor stared at her wide-eyed. "I didn't want you to have another nightmare. Tell me, is it being in my company that makes you panic, or do you always wake up that way?"

Marc shrugged. "I always wake up that way. Well, when I'm woken up. I am _not_ a morning person. Just ask my dad."

"Your dad?" the Time Lord repeated blankly.

"He used to wake me up for school when I lived at home," Marc explained. "I was a right bitch to him first ting in the morning. Always made me feel guilty afterwards. But it didn't stop me from biting his head off and whining about it the next morning like always." She shook her head and shrugged off her leather jacket. The guards had checked and found nothing in the pockets, allowing her to keep it. "What about you?"  
"What about me?"  
"Your family. Parents, siblings, that kind of thing."  
"I don't often think about them anymore. I had a granddaughter once--"

"Granddaughter?" Marc gasped.

"In a previous incarnation. I caught up with Susan once or twice after she left my company to live with David, but we didn't really get a chance to talk, catch up. I should find her again." He looked sad. "I should find a lot of people again."

"Yeah," Marc frowned. "I suppose I should sometime too."  
"What about college?" the Doctor asked curiously. "Why did you decide to major in history?"

"I love history, like I said before. Especially European and the ancients. It fascinates me. I've wanted to go to these places for about a decade at least now. They've got stuff dating back over a thousand years over there. Isn't that wonderful? And what about Egypt? It's amazing!"

The Doctor was grinning. "It is."

Marc was warming to her theme. "There has been tons of disasters—weather, invasions, war, religious strife and conflict. And yet still a lot of this stuff has managed to survive through it all. And it's so beautiful. The land _and _ the architecture. It amazes me how they managed to build all those cathedrals with only the tools they had at the time, and we can't even manage to do the same stuff anymore. Absolutely gorgeous."

The Doctor's grin had been widening as he listened to her enthusiasm. "When we get out of here, I must take you to some of my favorite haunts in Europe."

Marc sobered. "Yeah. When we get out of this." She looked honestly and simply frightened, didn't try to hide it this time with sarcasm and anger. "What's going to happen, Doctor?"

"I don't know, Marc," the Doctor replied. "Don't worry, we'll figure something out."

"Oh really?" Marc retorted, instantly sarcastic again. She sighed, settled back against the wall. "Sorry. So now what do we do?"

"Try to stay awake," the Doctor replied.

* * *

Marc and the Doctor had been in the cell for three days. Marc felt grubby, exhausted, and severely bored. She didn't even have the energy or inclination to be frightened anymore, just a little snappish.

The Doctor was seated cross-legged on the floor, his eyes closed. Marc wondered just what the _hell_ he was doing. She had seen him doze off yesterday and start awake, surprise and fear flaring in his eyes before he controlled his expression. Marc had been battling sleep the past few days as well; every time she fell asleep, if the Doctor didn't wake her up, disturbing images and memories would.

Not that sleep was a likely possibility in the first place. They kept hearing screams and shouting and pounding feet outside the door to their cell room. Whenever she started going to sleep, something outside would wake her up.

Marc kicked the bars with her booted foot. "Shit," she hissed, frustrated helplessness overwhelming her. "Bugger, blast, hell, damnation, _SMEG!!!_"

"Have you been watching _Red Dwarf_ without my knowing?" the Doctor asked her calmly. His eyes, catlike in the dim light, were open and watching Marc.

"Not lately," Marc grumbled and sprawled on her bed. "I'm going crazy, Doc. What is going _on_

out there?"

"I would assume what I predicted," the Doctor remarked, stretching his legs. "People are feeling the effects of--whatever it is."  
"How can you be so sure?" Marc shot back, in a mood to argue. "Maybe I've just had a few bad dreams--vampires have been figuring in them a lot lately, you know. Just a huge coincidence." Even she didn't believe it as she said it.  
He shook his head, curls flying in his face. "No no no no no no no. I'm sure of it. Something's going on, I can feel it. And good old Inspector Armin doesn't want to admit it."

"Fine. You're right. Happy? It still doesn't help us."

"You're right. It doesn't. But hopefully Armin will eventually see the error of his ways and realize he needs our help."

"Hopefully?" Marc repeated incredulously. "_Eventually_?! Fer chrissakes, Doc, we can't wait around till the end of the world!"

"No, we'd both be dead by then."

Marc glowered at the Time Lord. He held her gaze. She refused to look away. "Look," the Doctor said gently, "I don't think I can break us out of this cell. As you say, your hair isn't long enough for hair pins," he added with humour. "And without outside help, we can't leave here."

Marc sat back, finally breaking eye contact, feeling uncomfortable and defeated. "So we're screwed."

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. "For the moment."

"Fantastic." She shrugged her coat off. "Does this happen to you a lot? You're very calm about it."

"Oh my yes. Very used to this. I've been in more prisons and cells and dungeons and detention areas than I care to remember."

"Why do you put up with it? I'd expect you to scream the place down."

The Doctor flushed. "What do you mean?"

"What do you do--and why do you keep doing it--to end up in all these prisons and cells and dungeons and whatever?"

He shrugged. "I've nothing else to do with my time. And you must admit, I do have an awful lot of time on my hands," he grinned cheekily. Marc scowled. "Sorry. I do something someone doesn't like, and he, she, or it locks me up to keep me out of harm's way. Or more likely, keep me out of his, her, or its way because I probably don't like what he, she, or it is doing."

"Very wise."  
"Who, me or them?"  
"Neither. I was being sarcastic."  
"I knew that."  
Marc sighed. "I don't understand you. But I like you anyway."  
"Thank you," the Time Lord inclined his head, smiling. "I think."

The door burst open.

The Doctor was standing even before Marc had a chance to blink and look up to see who came in. She also stood up, slowly picking up her jacket and putting it on again.

"Inspector Armin, how nice to see you again. How are you? How's life? Everything's well, I hope?" the Doctor inquired, giving the inspector his most charming smile. His pale blue eyes stayed hard and unsmiling.

"You were looking up information on Drago's last project at this complex," Armin said, not phrasing it as a question and ignoring the Doctor's prattle. Two guards flanked him from behind, holding their guns ready. "Including about a mood stabilizer that Drago was personally overseeing."

Marc elbowed the Doctor in the arm. "I thought you were covering your tracks," she whispered.

"Obviously not very well," the Doctor whispered. "Perhaps I should brush up on my hacking skills."

"Don't look at me for help. I'm computer illiterate."

"In your time period? I thought everyone knew the basics by then. Amazing." The Doctor turned back to Armin. "What's your point, Inspector?"

"You were right," the inspector said to Marc's surprise. "Everyone's gone mad. Not just the actual certifiable lunatics, but merchants, scientists, doctors, people on the street. I've run out of ideas. I need you help."

"So quickly? Things must be worse than I thought; I was expecting to be stuck in here for at least two more days." Marc however noticed the Time Lord's relief in the way his shoulders ever so slightly relaxed. The Doctor frowned in concentration. "Can you get me access to Drago's research, personal files, experiments and results, that sort of thing?"

Armin nodded.

The Doctor's voice rose slightly, but he smiled to indicate he was in control of his emotions. "I'll also want my coat back."

The inspector and the companion stared at the Time Lord. "It has a lot of useful things in it," he protested. He winked conspiratorially at Marc. "Besides, I'm freezing."

* * *

They were released from the cell a half-hour later, and the Doctor was given his velvet frock coat back. Armin led them, still under guard, through the complex to Armin's headquarters, the room Marc and the Doctor had seen him in the first time they came here. A single computer stood on the long table, blinking in readiness for use. The Doctor immediately sat down in front of it. Armin stood behind him, apparently reading over his shoulder. The guards stationed themselves at the two doors, and Marc sat down across from the Doctor, feeling useless again. She was so tired. Her eyelids drooped, closed. Her head fell forward. The past three--surely more than that--days had taken their toll on her.

The Doctor didn't notice her nodding off. He was immersed in the information on the screen, absorbing it an incredible rate. Armin didn't even bother trying to keep up, vaguely wondering at the back of his mind what race this Doctor was. He had no knowledge of a species that could read so fast, and Armin knew many species. It was part of his job, and he took his job seriously.

Meanwhile, Marc dreamed.

"Hmm." The Doctor frowned at the screen.

"What?" Armin asked, alert.

"I don't know. I'm thinking."

She was in a ballroom, surrounded by beautiful and fascinating people in beautiful and fascinating dresses and tuxedos, a proper ball with an orchestra and servants in uniforms. Marc wore the most gorgeous gown and was dancing with a right hottie. It was the nicest dream she'd had in days, if not weeks. A small smile curved her lips upward.

"Where is this--Meckling building?" the Doctor asked. "That's where they were doing the actual experiments on this new drug."

"It's part of this complex, near the town."

"Ah." The Doctor didn't offer any further comments.

The orchestra stopped playing. People were shouting, screaming, the walls and glass were exploding, guns were being shot. Marc fell to the floor, panicking, while everyone around her ran around aimlessly, lost and frantic.

Marc woke up furious. "_Damn_ it!" she shouted, scraping her chair back and standing up. She slammed the chair back in with too much force and hit her palm violently on the edge of the table. "Shit," she hissed in pain, holding the one hand with the other. Her palm throbbed agonizingly.

Armin was watching her coolly. The Doctor was ignoring her. She scowled at Armin and flexed her hand carefully, wincing even before the movement. It hurt like hell. She felt a twinge of fear, that tiny, flickering uncertainty she always felt when she injured herself. 

She remembered with abrupt, vivid clarity how much she hated doctors.

"Are you all right, Miss--Davis, wasn't it?" the inspector asked.

"No," Marc snapped. "Piss off."

The Doctor glanced up. "Something wrong?"

"Yes," Marc growled in answer. "I hurt my hand. Badly."

"I'm sorry. We'll take care of it as soon as we can."

"Thanks," Her voice was thick with sarcasm.

"Well Doctor?" Armin distracted the other man. "Have you found anything?"

"Yes." He was frowning in anger. "They've been releasing the waste products from their chemicals into outside air, not realizing what harmful effects these byproducts could have. We have to stop the experiments, and somehow dispense with the harmful chemicals already in the air without anyone else being affected."

"What chemicals are they?" Marc asked.

"Dangerous ones, trying to find the right combination for their new wonder drug. Fools!" the Doctor replied bitterly. "They didn't even think what they might cause. Come on," he stood up. "Show me to this Meckling building. Now, Inspector, we don't have much time."

"You can fix it?"

"Yes."

"Tell me how."

"Why?" the Doctor asked warily.

"I don't trust you," Armin said frankly. "I think you belong as one of the patients here."

"So what does that make me?" Marc muttered. "Never mind, forget I said anything."

The two men ignored her. "I want you to tell me what you plan on doing. Then I'll check with the scientists here and, if they agree that your plan will work, then _they_ will carry it out. Not you."

"And can you trust your scientists?" the Doctor asked quietly. "These drugs are affecting them too you know."

"As are you."

"Ah, but I can probably handle it better than they can."

"I still can't trust you."

The Doctor bit back the first words he would have said in frustration. "You can't trust anyone," he pointed out. "And you said I was your last resort, the last person you could come to for help. It's either me or nothing."

The inspector and the Time Lord had another staring match. They were really beginning to get on Marc's nerves. "Oh, for pete's sake," Marc said, pushing between them and ruining the dramatic tension, "can we please stop with the macho shit? He's right, _mister_ Armin, you need his help. Take it. If you don't, I'll hit you."

The Doctor smiled slightly, looking at the inspector over Marc's black head. "She will, you know. Although I'd suggest using your uninjured hand," he added, looking down affectionately at Marc.

Marc held onto her injured hand, still with her back to the Doctor. It throbbed in time with her heartbeat. "Yeah, well..."

Armin sighed. "Come with me."

Marc gave the Doctor a high five (with her uninjured hand) and they followed Armin out of the room and down the dim corridor. Marc could hear shooting and screams and running feet, but where they walked the place seemed deserted. She wondered what was going on around her and tried not to feel frightened. She felt even more scared being isolated from all that anger--who knew when it could spill out into their hallway.

When they reached the other building via a series of hallways, Armin led them to a laboratory. The technicians and other people in the room all stared at the newcomers when they came in.

"Stop whatever you're doing," the Doctor immediately commanded. Marc didn't want to tell him how ridiculous he looked, pretending to be an authority figure when he obviously felt like collapsing in a long nap. She had a feeling he wouldn't appreciate it.

"Listen to him," Armin added authoritatively.

"Excuse me," a technician with olive skin and black eyes stepped up to Armin and the others, "but you have no right to order us to do any--"

"Yes, I do," Armin interrupted, holding up a card he'd taken out of his pants pockets. "I am Inspector Armin, from Central. I have full authority to stop any project or experiment I deem illegal or harmful to the citizens of this planet, and I find this project extremely dangerous. You will stop everything now."

"Go, _Armin_," Marc muttered to herself.

"Inspector--"

Armin's pale eyes seemed to darken. "Do you want me to use force?" he asked in a quiet, ominous voice.

The other man's face tightened in exasperated anger. "Of course not, Inspector. However, there must be--"

"Shut up," Marc cut across him ruthlessly. She was sick and tired of this damned planet and these damned people and she wanted to go back to the TARDIS and get a bandage and painkiller for her palm. "This is important. Or do you want a whole helluva lot of deaths on your conscience? Listen to what's going on out there! One person at least has already died because of this mess, you know, and I'm sure more have by now."

The man frowned in confusion. "What?"

"Drago was in charge of this experiment," the Doctor said to Armin. Even though it wasn't a question, Armin nodded in agreement. The Doctor turned to Marc. "A bit of poetic justice, perhaps?"

"Inspector," the olive-skinned man began, "I really think--"

"We don't have time for this," the Doctor interrupted, pushing past the black-eyed technician and sitting down at a console. He began tapping at the keyboard experimentally.

"Hey!" the tech exclaimed. "You have no right to do that, mister--"

Armin caught hold of the man before he could do more than take a single step forward, toward the Doctor. "He has every right."

"Let go of me!"

Nobody in the room moved. The man twisted his arm out of Armin's grasp. "Now look here, Inspector--" he breathed heavily.

"_You_ look here, mister," Armin said. "This is a highly dangerous--"

"The hell it is! You have no idea what we are doing here--"

"No, _you _have no idea--"

"Would you _listen_ to me?! I'm--"

"Would everyone please shut up?" the Doctor asked loudly, not looking away from his screen. "I'm trying to concentrate."

He found Marc at his shoulder and was startled by her presence. He hadn't even noticed her join him. That would be worrying at any other time with almost any other person. "Can I do anything to help?" she asked in a quiet voice, a determined look in her exotic blue eyes.

The Doctor smiled up at her, taking a quick moment from his work. "Get those two to be quiet for a start," he replied with sincere gratitude.

She flashed him a grin, feeling like a co-conspirator. "That's easy." She turned back to the two men who were still yelling at each other.

"All right," she snapped, stepping between the two and getting a surreal feel of de ja vu. "_Enough!_ You will _both_ shut up and let the Doctor work in peace!"

The Doctor hid a smile and turned back to his console.

The two men stared down incredulously at the smaller Marc. She blushed but refused to waver. _C'mon_, she thought to herself in desperation,_ don't be an ass! You can handle this!_

She forced herself to concentrate; she could feel her thoughts sliding around unmanageably in her head in all directions. The olive-skinned man was heading for the Doctor again; she caught him up and grabbed his arm, her temper and frustration overflowing. "Leave him alone, you damned—"

He threw her off with too much violence, real rage on his face, not the anger of some outsider telling him how to do his job. "Don't touch me!" he screamed and raised his arm to hit her.

She didn't have time to think, to react. She wasn't even thinking coherently enough to be absolutely terrified. She didn't know what to do.

So she hit him.

"Shit," she breathed out, holding her already-injured hand. She'd just slapped the technician with that hand across his face, leaving behind a scratch from the one ring she wore, her high school class ring. He put a hand to the ragged cut, then stared down at the blood on his fingers in stupefaction, all the chemically induced rage draining out of him.

Armin gestured his two guards to the tech. They grabbed his arms and led him without a struggle out of the room.

"Thank you," the Doctor said. No one replied.

"Here." Inspector Armin handed Marc a handkerchief.

"Thanks," she said in surprise, looking up at his pockmarked face. Did she detect a hint of a smile? If so, it was quickly gone. Marc shook her head in bewilderment, decided she would just work on autopilot until she got off this planet again, and began tying the handkerchief around her palm and hand like she would an ace bandage.

"There," the Doctor sat back in smug satisfaction ten silent minutes later. The other techs had barely moved or said anything since the newcomers had barged into the lab. "I've stopped the process. Now all's left is dealing with what's already been made and stopping any more violence, nightmares, bad memories, and the like."

"Bad memories?" Marc questioned, coming up behind him and frowning. She hadn't heard anyone having trouble with bad memories.

He winced. "Yes. Bad memories." He stood up. "Come along, Marc."

She shrugged at the dumb-founded people standing around the room and followed him out. He led her out of the complex, into the black, windy night. There was mist swirling around everything; the silence was serene. No one seemed to be about, and for that, Marc was grateful. The moon was peeking out from behind clouds, and the wind blew gently, thoughtfully. The Doctor turned to Marc and smiled, taking her good hand and dropping an oddly-shaped piece of metal into her palm and closing it around the cold metal.

"A key to the TARDIS," he explained. "Get a proper bandage for your hand, get some real sleep. You should be fine in the old girl, now that she's on her internal air supply and has been for a few days."

Marc put the key into her jeans pocket. "What about you?"

He cocked his head in the direction of the complex. "I should help them out a little longer, just until everything's under control again."

She nodded and yawned. "I am tired," she admitted, thinking to herself that that was the understatement of the millennium. "See ya later." She headed for the town and her new home.

"Marc?" She turned back to the Doctor, an arrested movement, her body still facing forward but her head twisted back toward him, her hands in her pockets, short black hair blowing in her striking white face. "Yeah?"

"Thank you," the Doctor said. He was a little fuzzy in the fog and drizzle, Marc noticed, a little misty and not quite there himself, "for your help in there."

She smiled widely. "You're welcome."

He grinned back and slipped into the hospital again.

Marc watched him leave, then headed for the TARDIS.

* * *

"It's all settled then?" the Doctor asked Armin. It was three days later; they stood in the middle of the street market, holding up traffic and either not noticing or not caring.

Marc had ventured out for farewells and one last look at the fascinating street market. She'd spent the past three days sleeping, reading--the Doctor had a fantastic library--and exploring the TARDIS. She'd volunteered gladly to stay in the time machine. She hadn't had a nightmare in three days.

"Everything's being cleared up," Armin replied to the Doctor's question. "And everyone's getting back to normal--even the lunatics."

Marc winced. "Not very PC of you, calling them lunatics," she remarked pointedly.

Armin shrugged, his pale eyes unreadable. He turned back to the Doctor, obviously dismissing Marc. She pursed her lips, glaring at the inspector, and flounced away.

"The technician Lucian would like to apologize to you," Armin continued as if nothing had happened. The Doctor watched Marc's retreating back. She wore baggy pajama bottoms, a fad from the late 20th century he recalled, a purple background with tiny white flowers patterned onto the fabric, and a tight short-sleeved striped purple t-shirt. The Doctor grinned. She'd found the perfect combination for the planet's temperamental weather. How very practical and adaptable. There was hope for her yet.

He turned back to the inspector. "Lucian?" the Time Lord frowned. "I don't recall the name."

"The tech who didn't want you shutting down the project."

The Doctor's face cleared. "Ah. The one Marc slapped."

"How's her hand?" Armin asked.

The Doctor felt a small flicker of surprise. Concern for others' well being was not what one expected of Inspector Armin. "Much better, thank you. Doesn't hurt anymore, she said this morning. I'll tell her you asked," he added with concealed curiosity, wondering how Armin would react.

Armin shrugged again. "Makes no difference to me."

"But it might to her." Now he was extremely eager to know how _Marc_ would react.

"Thank you for your help, Doctor," the inspector changed the subject. "You stopped a lot of violence."

"Yes." The Doctor looked around the street market, peaceful and busy with people talking, laughing, buying and selling. The sun was shining cheerfully over the buildings, and a slight, warm breeze blew. There was the stillness of summer here, patience and long hours rocking on the front porch, watching the world pass calmly by. The Doctor smiled slightly, turning his face to the breeze and delighting in the feel of the wind in his hair. "I think you're right." He held out a hand. "Good-bye, Inspector Armin."

Armin shook the Doctor's hand awkwardly. It didn't seem something he was used to doing. "Good-bye, Doctor." Armin turned away and began walking back to the medical complex.

"Armin," the Doctor called on an impulse. The inspector turned back. 

"Do you trust me?"

The Doctor swore he saw a tiny, wry smile flicker on Armin's face. "Never Doctor," he called back and left.

The Doctor was still grinning to himself when he found Marc again. He hung back, watching her from behind another cart, ostensibly looking at fruit, though his blue eyes were peeking up through his bangs at his friend. Marc was at the stall in front of his, talking to a tall, calico cat. The cat was allowing Marc to pet his tail, a sign of high favor among his race, and they were laughing at something.

The Doctor joined them a few minutes later. "Hullo, Marc," he breezed up as if he'd just found her. He grinned at the cat. "Who's your friend?"

"Rumpleteezer, this is the Doctor," Marc introduced them, the color high in her cheeks with excitement. "Rumpleteezer runs an antique shop, Doc," she added.

"From all different planets and cultures," Rumpleteezer agreed, a slight purr in his pleasantly soft voice. "Please come visit it sometime. Your friend here has excellent taste, Doctor."

Marc grinned and impulsively stroked Rumpleteezer's tail again. The cat's purr became louder.

The three talked a while longer, then the two travelling companions drew away. "He's very nice," the Doctor remarked. "Some of his race are very aggressive. Type to try taking over the universe."

"Don't all cultures and races have people like that, though? You can't just go by a handful of people; not everyone's a power mad dictator."

The Doctor smiled at her proudly, finding the more he got to know her, the more he liked her. "Yes, you're quite right." He remembered the inspector. "How's your hand? Armin was inquiring after it."

Marc scowled at the mention of the inspector. "It's fine. He's still a bastard."

The Doctor laughed. "I thought you'd say something like that. Come on, let's go back to the TARDIS."

Marc lingered behind him reluctantly. "Can't we stay here a while? I like it here now..."

"Despite the insane asylum?"

"Yeah, well," Marc brushed his comment off self-consciously. "Despite that. I've just spent the past three days in the TARDIS breathing recycled air. It's all calmed down now anyway. Please?"

"All right." The Doctor was pleased. "Just don't eat any more pets."

"I didn't eat it! Just almost." Her face seemed permanently sunburnt. "I had a dream last night," she added to change the subject.

"Oh?" his face darkened.

"Yeah." She'd been walking through a meadow, listening to a Walkman with all her favorite songs, the sun warming her back. She smiled again at the memory. "It was good."

"Good." He sounded relieved. It was his turn to change the subject. "You know, we still haven't had that conversation about when violence is acceptable," he said as they walked down the street, dawdling occasionally to look at merchant's wares.

Marc rolled her eyes. "Look, I was under a lot of stress when I slapped the guy--"

"I didn't mean that," the Doctor cut her off, surprised. "By the way, he apologized."

Marc stopped. "He did? Oh."

"He was under a lot of stress too, you know," the Doctor pointed out gently.

"True." Marc sighed. "Maybe I should find him and apologize as well."

The Doctor shrugged. "If you like."

The sun was setting. Marc elbowed the Doctor. "What?" he asked, looking around to find what she was looking at.

"The sun's setting. That's our cue."

The Time Lord's face was a textbook description of confusion. "Sorry?"

"We gotta walk off in the sunset," Marc explained. "C'mon! I hate westerns and even I know that!"

The Doctor's face cleared and he slowly smiled. "Of course. It's the end of the story. The heroes have saved the day once again. I understand."

So they walked off into the sunset.


End file.
